One day a Thrush bird was sitting alone at the end of the lane.
As his little brown head slightly tilted, he curiously looked up at the sky. It was a night sky, serene and filled with cool air. As autumn was soon to come.
The bird flew into a window. It was mine. As he sat there calmly he slowly started to sing. It was a song of rhythmic musical sounds, he repeated them two times over. As he finished the bird took a deep breath in. He pushed his chest into the air and waited proudly for my response.
“What are you singing?”, I asked. “it’s beautiful”.
“Oh no. No no No. The bird said in a laughing voice. “This song doesn’t have a name”.
“It is the rhythm, the repetition of sounds, one should pay attention to. And as I have practiced this particular sequence all of my life, it is a masterpiece.”
“Beautiful”. Will you come and visit me again?”, I asked the bird. “It would be nice to have your company. It gets so silent here at night”. The bird jumped up and chirped with enthusiasm. Finally he had found his audience. “of course”, he said. After which he happily flew back into the night sky.
As promised, the bird returned the next day. I was excited. And he was too. I asked him if it was ok if I moved a bit closer to the window this time. As to observe him more closely. The bird nodded and gave me his permission. “But please don’t intervene with my song!”. I politely kept my distance and gave the bird his space to sing. As I started to recognize the repeated sounds, the song became more and more beautiful to me. After the bird left, I fell into a deep sleep with the bird’s song still softly echoing through my mind.
We repeated these nights together. The bird and I. He would sing to me. The same song always. And I would joyfully listen.
One day I was so mesmerized by the bird’s singing, that I accidentally blurted out “that the song should have a name because every masterpiece has one!”.
“Noooo!”, the bird chirped loudly. A cold silence took over the room. “I told you this before, this song is merely a repetition of sounds. It has no name!” The bird looked at me, his dark eyes wide open, angrily staring into mine. Then he quickly apologized for his snide comment.
“I’m sorry, was that rude?”. The bird asked. “No, it’s fine” I replied. ”Let’s keep the song as it is. Nameless.” But even though I tried to assure the bird that his song didn’t need to change, he wasn’t happy.
That night, I knew we lost something. The bird and I. And even though he tried, the bird never sang to me in the same way again. His head, never held up as high. His voice, never as vocally clear as before. The song, never really in tune. As I saw him struggle, it seemed our musical night had lost its magic.
One day a Thrush bird was sitting alone at the end of the lane.
As his little brown head slightly tilted, he didn’t look up at the sky. It was a night sky, serene and filled with cool air. Autumn was about to come.
I waited, as I stared patiently out of the window but my friend stayed absent. My eyes scanned the black horizon, trying to find brown feathers and white spots. Instead, a cool breeze came into the room and filled the room with silence. I held my hand against the window, hesitated for a few seconds, and closed it.
That night the summer ended. And the bird never returned.